


Lady Lion of Winterfell

by dunbarisms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, Other, as well the incoming troubles, the background will be explained further in other chapters, underage for our culture but myrcella is seventeen so for westeros she is old enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunbarisms/pseuds/dunbarisms
Summary: AU. Robb Stark survives the Red Wedding and after the death of King Joffrey, an alliance is made through King Tommen and Tywin Lannister. Four years later, with a settled peace and the oncoming winter, Myrcella travels North to become Queen in the North as the threat of Daenerys Targaryen grows larger by the days. The North is no place for a lone lion, but Myrcella is stronger than she looks and the King in the North will soon learn how strong.





	1. Prologue ;Myrcella I

**Author's Note:**

> this is only the prologue. next chapter will still be with myrcella as the p.o.v character. the story will be around fourteen chapters, luckily and I will try to make them as long as possible, with the exception of this prologue.

**Chapter One: Prologue.**

_Myrcella I._

Her reflection shows a different reality to what she was feeling. Her dress is long, and the corset is bright; embroiled with gold bodices, the face of a roaring lion shown there. The dress is a bright cream color; it almost blends with her curls as she looks at herself. She is still young, ten and six by now; sister to the King.

She knows she **_must_** make this match work; for the sake of the seven kingdoms, because her grandfather demands it of her; because they broke an Alliance with Dorne to send her to the North.

Tommen had tried to delay her send-off to the North since the War of the Five Kings ended. Her uncle Renly was dead, her uncle Stannis was a prisoner on the Red Keep awaiting his sentence. Tommen ruled over the Seven Kingdoms, relying on his wife Margaery Tyrell more than on their own mother. And Robb Stark was King in the North.

They will all hate me. She knows this. **The North Remembers,** isn’t that their words? They remember what her uncle Jaime did to Bran, they remember what her family did to theirs on the red wedding. It was a miracle that Robb Stark and his direwolf survived; barely alive, the stories said. Others said he did die, and his direwolf brought him back. _More wolf than a man_ , they told her.  She remembers a young boy, no, a young man; clean-shaved and proper who guided her through Winterfell and smiled kindly as she looked up to him. He had been kind, and her little self-had hoped he would take her; marry her.

But her father decided Joffrey should marry Sansa instead.

Perhaps if she had been the one to marry Robb, things would’ve been different. Things were wrong now, and too late to make amends, but the families needed to move on; and arrangements were made.

That was four years ago; her grandfather had written to King Robb before dying, about an alliance; allow the North to remain independent, defeat the Baratheon usurpers, and stablish an alliance. A marriage to unite the South and the North.

Myrcella feels like a prisoner; she had no choice in her marriage, and had only hope that maybe, time would’ve changed everyone’s minds on the matter. But Robb Stark hadn’t remarried after the death of his first wife Jeyne Westerling who bore him no children. He had kept his word; providing aid to the South when needed, and the South provided provisions and more food for the harsh winters.

It feels like peace. Myrcella now knows that it feels like the calm before a storm. Daenerys Targaryen remains off Westeros but who knows when she will arrive. Never, or soon. No one can tell for certain.  

“My princess, the procession is ready.” A voice calls from behind her, one of her ladies’s head peaking through the door and she simply nod, a dismissive hand gesture for her to leave as Myrcella stares at the view from her room. The last view she will see from the Red Keep.

In her hands, she holds a letter; the seal of a direwolf broken as she stares at the letter of who will be her future husband. It was the only letter he had written to her in the years they had been fiancé; though words had been exchanged and gifts through emissaries.

 

_For my future wife;_

_The kingsroad to Winterfell will be a hard one; my lady. I beg of you to wear the Stark and Lannister banners up high for the northern men of your presence. As well, you will visit a few of the bannermen’s houses from the north for you to have a good rest before arriving to Winterfell._

_Be safe, princess. My sister Sansa and cousin Jon will both meet you mid road to guide you properly to your new home._

_Let the Old Gods protect you,_

_Robb Stark, **King in the North**._

 

When she heard that Sansa had reunited with her brothers up north, she had been happy for her. She never deserved the troubles and abuse at the hand of her brother Joffrey or her mother. It did caused some commotion that she and Jon Snow had married years after they reunited; details were not known to her knowledge.  What people knew was that he was not Ned Stark’s bastard but Lyanna Stark and an unknown man.

It had been enough for them to marry and after what her family did to Sansa, she took no mind in the girl marrying someone close to her; Jon Snow had broken from the Night’s Watch and they now lived in Winterfell until their own home was built.

Some tongues said he was the product of rape. Lyanna Stark had been taken by the mad king’s eldest son and died. But that would mean Jon Snow was heir to the throne. So people made silence on the matter. King Tommen was young, innocent but kind, the kingdom was finally at peace. Let it remain so.

She didn’t say goodbye to her mother. Thinks had grown cold between them as she grew older, and it makes her heart ache. The last words her mother spoke to her were simple, but broke her: “You will be betraying your blood the moment you bed that wolf.”

She waved goodbye her brother Tommen, who hold his wife Margaery with a firm grip by the hand. She hunched down to hug her uncle Tyrion, who had promised to go North at her request If any troubles came.

And she did the same with her Uncle Jaime. Myrcella had always loved him the most, and she knew it all well; he was her father after all. But it was a secret she would never tell but she was glad he was. Robert had never hurt her in the way he did her mother or her brothers; but he had been rough when he had to be kind.  Uncle Jaime never treated her in such regard.

“Be save, princess. And what your Uncle Tyrion said extends to me. I would be by your side at your call. I only wished to be there for your wedding.” Oh how she wished so as well. But people would whisper, more than they did now. And it had been arranged that no Lannister but Myrcella should ride North. At least for now.

“Goodbye, Uncles. I wish you all good fortune.”

And Myrcella Baratheon began her journey to the North, where she would trade the lion and the stag for a direwolf; her bright yellows and reds for the grey and black cloaks.

She would be Myrcella Stark, Queen in the North, Lady of Winterfell.

_If only things would be that simple._


	2. A Cold Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella and her ladies ride north and the night before reaching Winterfell, she briefly reunites with Sansa and Jon Snow. Myrcella dwells on the meeting to come with Robb. Next chapter will be from Robb's POV! the arrival at winterfell and their first meeting. I might throw a little Myrcella POV as well. We'll see.

**Chapter One: A Cold Welcome**

_ Myrcella II _

The procession toward the north had been swift due to the winter; it would be there sooner than expected and if they allowed the winter to arrive before she was in Winterfell, she would’ve to wait months, perhaps even years to arrive north and it has been four years already. It was time for her and her people to get to the north and be a helping hand to those in need. With her, carriage with provisions and more warm clothes would be arriving for the people. 

Though she wasn’t as alone as she thought. With her were travelling her distant cousins, Rosamund Lannister, who had once accompanied her to Dorne and had been her decoy and her bastard cousin, Joy Hill. The three girls were very similar looking and she was glad to have some blood and familiarity in such a cold place. And she wasn’t just talking about the cold weather. Winterfell was distant and cold, far away from home, and the people surely hated her as much as they hated the Lannister name.

Her cousins kept the journey light and easy for her, games were played, talks of the north and their new clothes and the wedding kept her mind busy. 

“How do you think he will be, your grace?” Myrcella’s blue eyes look back at her cousin’s Rosamund, a lighter shade than her own and she dwells into deep thought at the mention of her future Husband.

“Haven’t you met already, cousin?” Joy spoke then, a shy girl, probably because of her bastard name and status but Myrcella hoped their new home would be kinder to all of them. After all, Jon Snow had been a bastard, and everyone saw him with kind eyes.

“Aye, I did. But I was a child and he was a young man then. Before everything, truly.” The memory is a warm one though. She remembers the warm halls of Winterfell despite the coldness outside, going around by his arm, as he would entertain her and laugh. The princess smiles at the thought. She had been a child and an infatuation had grown during her stay there. “He was very handsome then. Auburn hair and the Tully eyes, cousins. Very sharp looks.”

It was easy, to talk like this with her cousins, all around her age and just behave like a young woman, they both looked so excited to meet the handsome king in the north. “They say he rides his direwolf to battle. The wolf is as big as a man and keeps on growing.” Rosamund speaks, sharing a laugh with Joy as the three of them join hands.

“I remember the direwolf but he was just a pup back then. I heard he tall as his master, perhaps even more so.” Such a majestic creature he would be now. Perhaps she should be frightened by the thought but if anything, the princess was curious.

 

The procession made one stop midway to gain some strength before arriving at Winterfell when they met with Jon and Sansa. The last time she had seen Sansa she was a child, both of them truly. Sansa Stark was but a woman now, her hair as red as ever with big tully eyes that remind her of Robb. And by her side, Jon Snow stood as the vivid image of Ned Stark, black eyes, strong beard. 

“My gods, it’s like the ghosts of Catelyn and Ned Stark are here to haunt us.” Joy spoke who had seen only drawing of the pair but she was in the truth here. They were the vision of their parents. Myrcella felt more uneasy now than she would be meeting with the King himself.

At the distance, very small, she could see Winterfell but it was night, and the horses were tired. Sansa advanced to meet them, as Myrcella descended from the carriage, her ladies following suit and she breathed out. She couldn’t read Sansa’s expression, but she could imagine she was not pleased by her presence. 

“Your Grace, we welcome you to the North.” It was Jon Snow who spoke, and his voice was kind and warmth, she could see a hint of a smile behind the beard and she had to breathe out as he reached to take her hand and kiss it. “I hope your journey was well.”

“It was, m’lord. My lady.” And her eyes find Sansa’s and she tries to smile, if anything, it only adds to her nerves, but Sansa returns the gesture nonetheless, and it seems genuine.  “I had my cousins to keep me company.” And Rosamund and Joy both bow down and Ned Stark’s bastard smiles, almost amused at the vision.

“By the Gods, it’s like staring into a three way mirror.” And her ladies smiled and laughed under the breath; which Myrcella was glad. Sansa came forward and took Myrcella’s hand, effectively stealing her away from her cousins for a moment.

Sansa was all polite smiles, but the princess was still fearful. They were to be family and yet, she felt like a bother and unwelcome. “You do not need to worry, princess. You are not your family, certainly your brother.” And emerald eyes look up at tully blue ones and breathes out. “I know you might feel like you own an apology but you do not. You were a child. I knew you so little when you were shipped to Dorne.”

_ Dorne _ . Such a contrast to what the North was. A distant memory now, one she was fond of but decided to push aside. Princesses did not dwell in the past; Winterfell and the Starks were her future.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. Still, I do hope our pasts stay there, and we can warm up to one another”. And the princess squeezes the stark’s hands and nods, feeling more at ease then. Eyes shift slightly to Lord Snow and she receives only a nod of confirmation; so this has been talked before.

 

The residence of Lord Snow and Lady Sansa was not finished, workers kept working through the night, hoping to finish the home before the wedding and the winter reached the North. The lights from Winterfell making her heart jump on her chest; she was a day ride from her new home.

Her ladies were sleeping as she looked through the window; the room they were given was big and she had requested her cousins to sleep with her, and despite dismissing her guards, one Lannister guard was by her door, making sure the girls sleep well.

“He likes you, Joy.” The princess spoke through hushed words as the lights were off and the girls were searching their sleep. “He smiled at you. He has a kind smile.”

“Oh, hush cousin. You know all Lannister guards have eyes only for you.” And Myrcella shakes her head. Oh no, her guards liked the princess because she was kind but neither would dare to look at her the way the guard smiled at Joy.

She wonders if her future husband would smile at her in said fashion. Rosamund, probably reading her thoughts, searched for her hand and squeezed it. “Robb Stark is a wolf, cousin. But wolf mate for life, or so I have read. He will see past your name and blood.” 

How she hopes so. Myrcella isn’t sure she would be able to live like her mother did and look past infidelities and bastard children all around, even if her dear cousin Joy was one of them, as well Lord Snow. But it’s not a way to live.

“I’m a stag and a lion. I will be a wolf too. And I shall find you nice husbands to be with.” She promises before her dream finds her. She dreams of auburn curls and steel eyes looking at him, a warm coat around her with the Stark sigil in all black, grey and white. 

 

She dreams of her new home. And finds it strange that she does not miss her home in King’s Landing. 


	3. Chapter Three; Warmth in this Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb finally meets his soon to be wife and queen in the north. The Stark siblings welcome the princess and Myrcella and Robb bond over Grey Wind. I know, two chapters in a row? damn. Well, I was feeling inspired.

**Chapter Three:  Warmth in the Walls**

_ Robb I _

All arrangements were made and the bells woke him from his sleep. Was it truly that time? A Raven from Jon’s home had reached informing him that the princess was well and taken care off and they would be making way to Winterfell tomorrow but he had never thought it would be this heist. He wakes up from his slumber, leaving his companion on the other side of the bed. 

The woman was a mirror of his darling Jeyne. And he knew, this could never continue, not when his future wife would be arriving at Winterfell in mere hours and gods, he knows how much it had broken and bothered his mother when his father arrived after the war with a babe on his arms, claiming him as his son. Whatever his thoughts were about the Lannisters and Myrcella Baratheon, he knows that no woman deserves to have that on her. He only hopes she would return the favor and not bed anyone else. He knows well the rumors of her mother and uncle. But he had made a deal with Tywin Lannister and he promised to honor it all.

His marriage with Jeyne had been declared invalid on the basis of war and non-consummation, even if he knew the truth on that matter and so everyone else. But no babe was conceived and that had been enough to convince other people to marry him to the princess. He had thought that in four years King Tommen would’ve changed his mind about sending his sister to the North but the alliance was much needed. And he heard that his soon to be wife had brought provisions as a gift to the North and for that, he is thankful.

The North needs all the help they can get. As he laces his jacket and fur coat, the door opens wide, revealing his youngest sister, a look of amusement spread on her futures. It was glad that she was on high spirits, considering who was coming home today. 

“They say she is prettier than her mother. ” Her sister’s eyes are enough to wake the sleeping woman on the bed, who hastily tries to bow down before running out of the room. Arya’s grey eyes look back at his blue ones and shake her head. “And kinder, sweeter. I remember her vaguely.” Sometimes he forget how young his bride was, even if it was only five years between them, he remembers a child, running around Winterfell with her little brother, now a king, and his little sister, now a woman herself.

“Be nice to her, Arya. She is not her family.” And Robb does worry about how the north would react to her, to their union even if they had four years to think on the idea. Arya had been very vocal about her dislike for the Lannisters ever since they crippled Bran and they were the hand behind the Red Wedding, as it was called now.

But his sister rolls her eyes, needle by her side. “Why would not? I know she is not her family. It’s not be who you should worry about. She has more enemies here than anyone else.” And she is right. His hands adjust his weapon by his side, heading toward the door, but Arya isn’t moving with him, not yet. “If anything, you will need to protect her. Once she gets an heir, the lords will warm up to her, like they did to mother.”

And then a short pause, her voice suddenly very grim. “And when she does, you know her family would not take her back. She will need help.” 

Again, his sister is right. Myrcella would no longer be a Lannister of a Baratheon once he declares her his wife by the Godswood and wraps her around his family’s cloak. She would be a Stark and once she has a child in her belly; she won’t be able to go back. Her children would be his, Starks by name. His heirs. 

The thought is not unwelcome but he has to yet meet her. And like a prayer answered by the Gods, there is murmurs and talks by the courtyard, and the trumpets announcing her arrival. His eyes find Arya’s and nods. 

 

Bran was there. His brother was on his chair, a book on his lap and Robb would want to argue again about him being inside, but his little brother had said that he would not stay inside while everyone greets the princess. He harbors no ill blood for her, and he wanted to show them all that he had no reason to be mad at the soon to be queen in the north. Robb thinks his brother is as much as a wolf as he is. 

He had decided against having Grey Wind with him on this moment; not wanting to frighten the young woman. He had grown tall as Robb, and even further if he wanted to be taller, a scary sight for someone like her surely.  So his direwolf stayed at the Godswood, playing with Nymeria, who they had found shortly after the war.

The carriage stops before them and a guard moves to open the door; the young man smiles as he offers his hand to the princess, and for a moment, Robb feels himself perk up, frowning, he refuses to think it’s jealousy out of someone he does not know, but he does not like how the guard just smiles so easily toward Myrcella.

She is but a vision. Head down to watch her steps, a lazy cloak around her shoulders that he knows belongs to Sansa, as it doesn’t fit her properly to cover her undressed dress. Blonde curls bounce off her shoulders as she sets foot in Northern soil and looks up around the courtyard. There is a thin smile on her lips, rosy and perky; so unlike her mother when she arrived at Winterfell all those many years ago.

_She is like the sun itself_ , he thinks. And when she finally set eyes with him she sees her swallow heavily and look away. Is she frighten by him?

The princess waits for her ladies; cousins, she had wrote to him once. A distant cousin from Lannisport and another one from Casterly Rock, who was a cousin and a bastard. The three girls seem so alike if it wasn’t for their eyes. She is lead to where he stands and the king straightens out.

“Winterfell, may I present you, Princess Myrcella Baratheon.” The guard speaks, introducing her properly. And the people bow, some more clumsy than others but they all do and Robb is proud of his people. The guard turns to him and bows. “Your Grace, I give you your betrothed.”

“Thank you, ser.” Her hand passed from one man to another. Despite the gloves he is wearing, he can feel she is cold, and he makes sure his grip is tight enough for her to get some of the warmth. Their eyes meet and for a moment neither of them speak.  _ She had grown _ , he thinks to himself. No more a child, certainly. Under his gaze, she seems to melt down and blush away, looking down once more.

An elbow to his side causes him to glance back down at his sister and sigh. She seems amused to say the least. “Princess, may I present you to my kin. Lady Arya Stark.” Arya huffs at the title but nods back to Myrcella, and he is surprised to see a sincere smile there. 

“Welcome to Winterfell, your grace.” Myrcella nods as she leans, a gentle kiss by his sister’s cheek as a greeting and he can see Arya being taken back. For that, he will forever mock her. 

And then he moves to Bran and everyone seems to quiet down around them. He can feel her tense by his side but he speaks none of it. “My brother, Bran Stark.” Bran moves a hand forward to take hers and leans forward, however difficult, to kiss her knuckles.

And in return, Myrcella leans as well, a kiss to his cheek and it seems to him that she mumbles something to his ear, but it goes unnoticed to him, though Bran shakes his head and offers a smile. “Welcome, princess. It has been a long time. You are indeed taller than me now.” A joke, for the Gods, his brother hardly jokes.

Her cheeks taint a lovely shade of pink and Robb can’t help but the smile showing on his lips. “Thank you, m’lord. You are far more handsome than I remember. But I was but a babe. So were you.” And the compliment brings a smile to both men. As he moves to Rickon, now an early teen, the boy kisses the princess hand but moves far the moment Robb dismiss them all.

And the King and his princess stay side by side, hand in hand as everyone leaves. He doesn’t dare to speak first, though he is already leading her away from the castle to the godswood when he turns around to a halt and speaks up. “Take the princess possessions toward the castle. To the Lady’s chambers.”

“Rosamund, Joy, please go inside as well. Make sure everything is moved correctly.” Her voice is gentle and kind, if not a little quiet, but he attributes that to the cold. Her eyes finds his, his hand moving hers to be wrapped around his arm as they walk in silence. 

 

It’s only when they are at the entrance of the Godswood that he stops, if only casually. “I would like you to meet Grey Wind, if that is alright with you, princess. He is as much as part of the family as anyone else whose name is Stark.” Myrcella’s hand quivers a little as eyes peak through the forest, as if trying to find him. “He won’t hurt you as long as you are with me. Understand?”

“Yes, your grace. They said you ride him to battle.” Curiosity leaks through her words and for a moment he doesn’t know what to answer to that, though his expressions softens, shaking his head. 

“I cannot answer that, m’lady. I have a reputation to uphold to my future wife.” And at last, she breaks a smile. It lightens her features and there is a rumble of a laugh in there as well that makes Robb perk with pride. 

Lips pressed together as he whistles to Grey Wind to come. For a moment, there is nothing but quietness around them. And then, the greyish direwolf comes into view and he hears her gasp, her body shifting closer and behind him.

He finds himself smiling even more as the wolf comes into view. “At ease, princess. Like I said, he won’t hurt you.” Because you are with me. Because you are not bad. He hopes. And the direwolf finally stands proudly before them, at his eye level, forcing the girl to look up.

“By the Seven, he is so tall.” And she breaks a laugh then, out of nerves, to which Grey Wind just huffs and leans his head closer, sniffing the air around her. “He is very handsome as well.” The princess speaks boldly. But it seems the direwolf understand because he only seems to lean further and bark in agreement. 

“Aye, your grace. A handsome and strong friend of mine.” And he reaches to give Grey Wind a gentle scratch behind his ears, brushing the furr to ease him down. “Not as handsome as I am, of course.”

Her eyes brighten up as he guides her hand to the fur, and when she finally feels the fur under her fingers, and sees that the animal will not hurt her, she continues her motion. “Aye, not as handsome indeed.” 

**Bold.** He thinks but before he can speak again, the young girl steals the moment by opening her mouth again. “I remember you and Winterfell. It has hardly change, though everything seems, smaller now. Except you, your grace. And Grey Wind.” Her eyes are unreadable now, as they are fixed to his direwolf and taking care of him. **_Good_ ** . At least they get along and that was important. 

“I remember you as well, princess. Shorter and a child. But bright and gentle. In that you have remained the same.” He admits, doing the same as she did, focusing on Grey Wind, it seem it was easier to speak this way for now. “Though you had grown beautiful. Certainly not a child.”

And he prays to the Gods that this marriage will do both of them good. A marriage like those of his parents and not hers. Robert had been king but he was not kind to his wife, that he knew, and gods know what memories she has of that. Does she expects him to be like her father? A drunken, abusive and fat old man? He shakes his head. At that then. 

“You have nothing to worry, princess. This will be your new home. And I will treat you as kind as a man should treat his wife. That I swear by my father’s honor and memory.” The mention of Ned Stark makes her look up and read his eyes. 

 

And then she smiles. “Your father was kind to me. And gentle. I believe you will stay by your word, your grace.”


End file.
